Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jason resists the urge to groan as the lady on tv waves her arms around, upset about something that he doesn’t know about, because there’s no subtitles.

Day Tv sucks. Why did no one tell him about this before he went and got himself shot?

He wishes he could read, but he’s read everything within his reach and the idea of making the trek all the way to the library with his wound makes him a little dizzy. He should’ve been smarter and stockpiled some books before this happened. Even if he couldn’t have predicted that he’d get shot, he still should’ve been smart and prepared in case he got locked in his room for a few days or something. Same with food.

He got seriously lucky, that Bruce didn’t punish him at all for disobeying him. Bruce kept insisting that it was Dick’s fault, and yet, as far as Jason knew, he hadn’t punished him at all for the rest of Dick’s stay here. He’d been frightened, initially, when Dick left and Jason lost the tiny amount of safety he offered, but Bruce as always, didn’t do anything. Yet.

He scowls against the shame that tries to make him feel bad and stupid. He’d just wanted to be useful, to be somebody for once. He’s only gotten a taste of it and he yearns to go back, to be robin one more time and he knows that this time he won’t fuck it up. He’d– they’d figure out the problems with talking in the dark, and Jason would learn how to tell danger without hearing it. He could.

Well, not right now. Right now he needs help just to stand up.

And he hates that. He really, really, hates that. Alfred is nice, so nice it’s hard to believe that someone can get that old and not give up on life. Jason feels close to doing that himself, and he’s already twelve.

Alfred is always gentle with him. His hands never strays further than they’re meant to and he never deliberately hurt him. He’s such a nice break from what real life is like that Jason should probably pull away soon, otherwise he’ll get too spoiled.

He’ll be going to boarding school soon after all, and while he knows that it won’t be as bad as the streets, he really doubts that it’s not gonna be everyone for themselves, there. It was just how the world worked, except for this rare, magical place that he’d tripped into where when he got injured, instead of gritting his teeth through it in order to find food and shelter, he’s literally being waited on hand and foot.

“Food, Master J?” Alfred would offer, appearing out of nowhere

“Comfortable?” he’d ask, before fluffing up his pillow when Jason was too sleepy from pain meds to answer.

“Let me try and find the captions,” he’d place a gentle hand on his shoulder as he navigated the complicated settings on the off chance that there’d be something for Jason to read.

It was so weird. Even when he got sick as a kid, Mom couldn’t look after him. She’d have to work, after all, and in her last year with him… Well, it was more Jason than Mom who looked after her.

He shoves another handful of chips in his mouth to distract himself from the swell of grief. The lady is hitting the man, focus on that instead.

He couldn’t wait until he heals up so he can stop relying on Alfred so much. He already feels like shit adding the burden of taking care of Jason to his already large workload, but it’s also just… Wrong to be so vulnerable in the presence of his foster family. Foster kids didn’t spend all day lounging on the couch, being waited on by their Foster carers. They couldn’t afford to be so seriously and obviously injured that they needed pills to help with the pain, that made him so drowsy that he would fall asleep in the living room.

It happened multiple times at this point, and– he can’t know that nothing ever happened. He was such a light sleeper usually, but the meds just knocked him right out.

He should stay in his room. It was the smart and safe thing to stay in his room, any foster kid would tell him that.

They would definitely scoff at Jason's reasoning why he let Alfred help him out every morning…

–Look, he’s lonely, okay? He thought that he was used to it, that he could let loneliness wash over him without knocking him over but the past month has made him weak. He was so pathetic that putting himself in danger was worth it just so he wouldn’t have to feel like his insides were hollow every second.

Speaking of, there were footsteps behind him now, he was pretty sure, he slowly turned around, careful of his injury in the hopes of seeing Alfred. He froze when he saw Bruce.

Bruce just gave him an awkward smile, hunching in on himself a little as if he knew how nervous Jason was around him.

It’s just… frustrating. The other foot should have fallen by now. Especially because of Jason’s colossal fuck up that was the patrol, but nope, nothing. Alfred said that the injury itself was enough of a punishment, but Jason wasn’t stupid enough to think that was really it. Something had to happen, and soon, and honestly, Jason was fine if it was super bad or something. As long as it happened so he could stop being so damn tense all the time.

He turns away from Bruce, making him so vulnerable to attack. He can barely breathe as he feels more footsteps, Bruce walking closer. He grows more and more tense, waiting for the smack, the grabbing of his hair, something.

Bruce just walks past him and crouches under the tv, looking for something in the drawer. All of the tension leaves Jason suddenly, and he sinks into the couch like it’s made out of feathers. Of course, he wasn’t doing anything wrong just by sitting here, Alfred has told him that, tons of times. Why would Bruce bother to punish him now? Stupid.

He keeps his eyes on Bruce, and he blinks in surprise when Bruce pulls out a chess board. Who is he gonna play with?

Bruce turns and smiles at him, and Jason has the baffling thought that maybe Bruce wanted to play with him.

It’s confirmed when Bruce signs, “play?” with raised eyebrows. Raised eyebrows means that he wants a yes or no answer, he’s pretty sure.

Well, it’s not like he’s gonna tell the man ‘no’ in his own home. He nods, and Bruce pushes the coffee table to the couch so Jason can play without getting up. His heart rate spikes when Bruce gets just a little too close, but he’s out of his personal bubble soon enough.

He blinks down at Bruce as he sets up the game, already lost in all the complicated looking pieces. Why the hell would Bruce want to play chess with him? Nobody wants to play with the deaf kid, this Jason knows intimately. He can’t be taught the rules easily, and nobody wanted to waste the effort when they could be spending it just playing the game with someone else. His Mom sometimes played pretend with him when he was younger, but for the most part, he was on his own, entertaining himself with books and daydreaming.

He hasn’t ever been invited to play a board game before. Definitely not something as complicated as chess.

When Bruce is done setting it up, he waves his hand at the board as if to say, you go first.

Jason clenches his jaw and tries not to shrink in on himself. How mad would Bruce be if he told him that he doesn’t know how to play? He wants him to say when he doesn’t know something when it comes to his lessons, but they’re just that. Lessons. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to not know something outside of them.

He takes a chance anyway.

“I, um. I don’t know how to play.”

“Don’t know?” Bruce asks, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes, repeating the sign to make Bruce happy.

Bruce nodded, signing, “that’s fine, I'll teach you.”

A little part of Jason relaxes, “okay.”

The process of figuring out how the game worked wasn’t as painful as Jason was afraid it would be. Instead of trying to sign how it all worked, he just showed him with the pieces, demonstrating how they’re supposed to move on the board, and even writing down little notes for Jason. It’s so weird that he doesn’t know what to think about it. He knows that Bruce is a good teacher, but his patience always surprises him, with little things like this. It begs the question, spinning around and around in his head, why? Why him? Why the deaf kid? Surely it would’ve been way easier to just play with Alfred. Why go through all the effort of teaching him and have a dumb, inexperienced opponent?

“My dear boy,” Alfred had said, weeks ago, as he cradled a sobbing Jason, terrified and exhausted from the constant fear of what Bruce could do to him, “we don’t want anything other than for you to be safe and happy,” he swallowed and adds the question to the pile of the many oddities of living in Wayne manor, and his mental strings creak a little under its weight.

Playing chess was actually really, really fun. With the notes right there to check if he was using a piece right, he got the hang of it pretty quickly, and soon he could focus on the strategy instead of floundering trying to remember how to play. It’s obvious that Bruce is going easy on him, but he’s so tired he doesn’t really even care.

He doesn’t know if it’s because of him, or if this is how it’s always played, but he likes how it doesn’t seem to need any talking at all. Every picture he’s seen of people playing chess involves two people intensely staring at the board, instead of having a great time like other board game advertisements do. Staring intently at the board seems to be a big part of this, since you have to plan ahead a lot, with chess. It was fun. And it didn’t even matter that he’s deaf. It would be played the same regardless, and that was… surprisingly nice to know.

His cheek squished against his arm as he watches Bruce decide what to do next.

He watches Bruce's hands as he finally makes a move, putting his bishop in danger. He’ll probably need it later, damn.

He’s biting his lip, deliberating what to do next, when he sees Bruce tap his fingers a little out of the corner of his eye and he realizes with a sudden pang that this is the closest he’s been to an adult without them hurting him since… Mom died, probably. Maybe even since Dad went to prison.

The game suddenly seems insignificant to the danger that he’s putting himself in. He’s so focused on the game, Bruce could do something– anything to him and he wouldn’t realize until it was too late–

But– Bruce could always do something to him, regardless of how aware he was. He was a big, rich man, and Jason was a small deaf kid. He wasn’t under any illusions that he had any power here.

Gritting his teeth he darted his hand forwards, just as Bruce lifted a hand to point out a move to him. Their hands collided, and in a flash, Bruce jerked his hand back, signing, “sorry.”

Jason blinked. “Fine,” he replied, not knowing what else to say. If there was one thing he could confidently say about the man, was that he was possibly the weirdest person he’s ever met, and that was saying a lot.

And… if he was so weird that he did things like eat burgers with a knife and fork, dress up like a bat to fight crime, and apologize for bumping a street rat’s hand, then wouldn’t he be weird enough to do the one thing so many adults in his life didn’t do and… not hurt him?

The idea feels ridiculous, and he dismisses it immediately, but it lingers.

For some reason, the idea made a feeling he couldn’t describe wash over him, and he played his stupid move, trying to ignore the feeling as much as he could.

For now, Bruce wasn’t doing anything, and he was just playing a fun game. He could allow himself that, just for a little bit.

Jason’s side screamed in pain as he dug through the cupboards, and he had to bite his lip hard to convince himself to not take a breather. How pain distracted him from pain, he didn’t know, but whatever the hell worked. The past few days of lounging around made him realize how complacent he was getting, and he needed to fix that, fast.

Sure, he couldn’t just walk out and be homeless again for a few days to toughen his skin back up, and he didn’t want to, but he was fixing the first mistake he made the moment it became clear that he was gonna stay here.

There! A pack of granola bars, filling, with a pretty much infinite shelf life. Perfect. He grabbed the box as carefully as he could, his arm shaking from the pain in his side. He tried to remind his body of how bad it had felt when he got shot initially, but it didn’t do him the favor of making his pain feel better in comparison. Urgh.

He should probably quit his losses now and just take the granolas… but the box was only half full. What happened if Bruce locked him in his room for a week? Somehow, he doubted that if he did lock him in his room, it would be for a whole week, but still, it could still happen. There was no way his granola bars would last that long.

Better find another box, just to be safe.

He leans forwards deeper into the cabinet. It’s so big, stupid big, as many rich people things are, and somehow Alfred has enough food to fill it all up. He spots a box in the back that looks promising, so he leans forwards to grab it–

Only to have the hand that was supporting him collapse out from underneath him, and he has a split second to think, oh no, before he lands right on his injury, lighting his whole body up with pain almost as bad as when he got shot.

He cries out, cutting himself off as soon as he realizes that he just fucked everything up. Shit, shit, shit he needs to get up, he needs to run away with his goods, but all he can see is white and his body seems more concerned with panting in pain than doing anything that would help his continued survival.

But shit. It hurts so much.

He laid there for a while, hoping to god that no one heard him.

Then he felt the ground shuddering as someone walked in, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Please be Alfred, please be Alfred, please be Alfred, he chanted to himself, bracing for the kick, the grab of his hair, the hours of furious yelling that he can’t even hear.

He felt a gentle touch on his back and he flinched, despite the flare of pain that it caused, waiting to be dragged out.

Nothing happened.

After a while, a gentle hand that was definitely not Alfred's landed on his shoulder, carefully, so carefully, pulling him out of the cupboard.

He didn’t want to leave. At least in the cupboard his face couldn’t be hit. Still, he moved with Bruce, not wanting to piss the man off any more than he did now, because he must get punished for this. He was stealing. That was the one thing rich people hated. He was so gonna get punished for this, shit.

And yet, despite it all, he was relieved under the fear. The other shoe would finally fall, and he wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore.

He slowly turned to face Bruce, expecting a hand to snap out and hit him at any moment, but nothing happened. Bruce’s eyes were stupidly wide and concerned.

“What happened?” he asked, his movements a little too jerky to be calm, “i heard you yell. You hurt?”

He clenched his fists, trying not to shake.

“Yeah, I- I just slipped,” the box of granola was sitting just behind him. Maybe Bruce wouldn’t notice– maybe he’d be able to get out of this unpunished–

Bruce’s eyes flickered over to where it was laying and his heart sank.

“Were you hungry?” he flushed. He thought that Bruce would be the type to be super straightforward about punishments, not dance around it and make him feel small and stupid. Guess he was wrong.

He shrugged, not knowing what the right answer was. Bruce reached around him and grabbed the box, and Jason swallowed. Would he make sure that Jason won’t be able to eat for days? Or would he force him to eat the entire box all at once, to make the idea of eating it make him sick?

All he could do was watch Bruce's face, the tiny ways it changed whenever a thought crossed his brain. He wished he could read the man’s mind, just so everything would be a little easier. Just so he wouldn’t have to go through the agonizing part of not knowing.

Bruce moved, and Jason braced himself– but all he did was press the box in his hands.

“If you want something, ask me, okay? I can get it for you,” Jason blinked, bewildered. Was this the punishment? This couldn’t be it. What was going to happen next?

“Okay,” he said, still tense, still waiting.

Bruce looked at him for a moment, a complicated expression on his face, and then he leaned forwards and pulled some stuff out of the cabinets.

“What else do you want?”

Shit, this was a test, wasn’t it?

“Um,” he murmured, frantically scanning for an answer, “just– just this is fine, thanks. I don’t need anything else,” he prayed that he wasn’t meant to give the box back. He wanted to keep it, he needed something.

Bruce blinked at him, and then picked up a box of crackers, “do you like this?” he waved the box.

He nodded, not sure what Bruce wanted from him.

Bruce put the box in his arms, and stood up. Jason leaned away, but all Bruce did was hold out a hand and keep it there. It took Jason a moment to realise that he was offering to help him up.

Jason grabbed the hand, waiting for rough treatment, but all Bruce did was ever so gently pull him up. His wound only twinged a little.

“Make sure you tell Alfred to check you up, okay?” he said, and then walked away.

That.

That could not be it.

There had to be something else, anything, but if there was, then it would’ve happened by now.

Seriously? Bruce caught him stealing and he didn’t even slap Jason on the wrist? What the hell else could he get away with if Bruce, the literal dark knight, was that lenient?

Ignoring Bruce's orders to go to Alfred, he rushed back up to his room, moving as fast as he was able, and shoving the boxes in hiding places the second he closed the door.

He slumped on his bed, panting. He hadn’t been running that fast, so why was his heart racing?

Maybe… Maybe this was just another thing that made Bruce weird. Like, sometimes parents in books would be super indulgent and let their kids do whatever they wanted. Jason thought that they didn’t really exist, but he also thought that butlers didn’t exist, and how he’s living with one.

If this was a characteristic of being weird, then he wondered why so many people hated weirdos, because he would choose to live with a weirdo over a normal person anytime. Maybe he only thinks that because he’s a weirdo.

He swallowed and double checked his hiding spots, not relaxing until he was sure that Bruce wouldn’t find his food. Even though he knew that Jason had them. Whatever.

He stayed in his room for the rest of the day, and he was fully expecting Bruce to come in and do something, but he never did.

Jason had no idea how to feel about that.

The man’s mouth is moving, and even though Jason can’t hear a word he’s saying, he can understand every word that leaves the man’s mouth perfectly.

Stupid, the man screams, spittle flying in his face .

Dumbass, something hits him suddenly in his side, and he rolls onto the ground. He lets out a whine and grabs the source of pain, right under his ribs.

Retard!

The word hurts so much that it rips him from the inside out, literally. There’s blood in his mouth, and he coughs it up onto the white snow underneath him.

Get out!!

The man points a finger at the door that’s suddenly appeared behind Jason, and hands are suddenly all over him, his arms, his legs, his– he wants them to stop, he wants to not be reminded of that man again, but the hand’s grip is crushing and unrelenting, slowly pulling him away from the warmth, the food, and into the cold where he’ll surely starve.

He screams and claws the snow turned carpet, but the man is already turning away, the halls stretching out into infinity and dragging Jason away, away, away, from the warmth, please let him stay, he’ll be good, he’ll do whatever the man wants, just let him stay, please he can’t be cold again.

The man doesn’t care, the hands certainly don’t care. They’re digging under his clothes, squeezing him so hard it makes his eyes water, and suddenly, he’s free but he’s cold. He’s so cold it hurts.

He sits up just in time to see the door close with a bang he feels in his soul. He opens his mouth to scream and–

His voice scratches at his throat as he lurches forwards from sleep, and the only thing that stopped him from escaping his suffocating blankets immediately is the stab of pain in his side, forcing him to fall back onto his bed with a pained groan.

He pants for a few moments, staring hard at the wall as the blood rushed in his ears, slowly realizing that it was just a dream. Just a dream.

He closes his eyes and lets out a final exhale, relaxing into his bed all at once. Dammit, he was getting so tired of these nightmares. Is it too much to ask that he can have one night of peace? One night where he just got to sleep and nothing else? Apparently.

He laid there in the dark for a while before deciding that there was no way he would be able to go back to sleep. Slowly, he pulled the blanket off of himself and grabbed onto the headboard, leveraging himself to sit upwards, biting back the pained whines that wanted to crawl out of his mouth.

Once he was finally sitting up, his side felt a little better now that it had some time to recover from his sudden movements, and the prospect of getting up and walking around seemed a little less daunting.

Slowly, because he didn’t want to be stupid and hurt himself again, he stood up, and started pacing his room, turning on the light so he wouldn’t trip on anything.

And so everything would feel a little bit safer–

But he was still shaking, and it felt like there were enemies hiding wherever Jason couldn’t see. It was too much, he needed to get out of here, take a walk, just– something.

But… What if he was too loud? Dad always yelled at him when he stomped out of bed to get himself a glass of water late at night, but he just didn’t know how loud he could be. Hearing people were such light sleepers. He didn’t want to piss off Bruce.

But then again, he, Dad and Mom lived in a tiny apartment. Right now, Jason was literally in a manor. Even if Jason was loud, he would be further away from them, physically, so maybe they won’t be able to hear him as much? He’d be careful, anyway. He couldn’t spend another second in this room without freaking out.

He slowly limped towards the door, and gradually opened it, just in case it squeaked or something. He looked out both ways at the dark hallways, up and down. Nothing.

His heart beat wildly, and every instinct was screaming at him to stay where he was put, but that wasn’t fair, because if he stayed he’d have a panic attack anyway.

As he walked down the hallway, one hand on the wall to make sure he didn’t get lost, he wondered what his end goal even was. There was really nothing to gain from walking around like this, and everything to lose.

He just needed to do something, think about something other than the hands, the horrible names–

Urgh. Why the fuck was this bothering him so much? It was just a nightmare, it wasn't real, and yet he was acting like someone really did touch him and shout at him. He was shaking like he had that day.

The kitchen is nice and quiet, and even though he can feel the wood boards creaking under his feet, he thinks he’s safe from being caught.

Taking the opportunity, he splashes some water on his face, which made him feel just a little better, and he poured himself a drink of water that he could sip at. It would distract him at least, and the novelty of having free access to running water still hadn’t worn off.

… he didn’t want to go back to bed, though. His nightmare had tainted it, making his room feel dangerous, even though it was probably the safest place in the house.

He wavered a little, walking into the living room. There was no way he’d be dumb enough to actually try and watch tv, but it’d be nice to just sit and try and calm down for a little bit. Convince his stupid body that he wasn’t in danger at this moment, everyone was asleep. If he could stay quiet, no one would bother him.

The living room was dark, as he expected, and he thinks that he knows where a lamp is. He carefully sets his glass somewhere he won’t knock it over, and feels around until he finds a lamp.

When he turns it on, he is not expecting to see Bruce, sitting on the couch and looking right at him.

He can’t help yelling in surprise, before realizing that he may be in very, very deep shit.

“B–Bruce–” he stuttered, his heart beating a mile a minute. The shaking that had dissipated minutes ago is back in full force, and he has to grip his hands into a fist so Bruce doesn’t see how shaken he really is.

Bruce doesn’t seem angry, but that doesn’t mean anything. He smiles, awkwardly. Like he’s trying to reassure Jason but he doesn’t know how.

He brings his hands up to sign something, but Jason doesn’t know what it means.

Does this count as a lesson? Is he allowed to ask? He’s not sure if he’s in trouble for going out of his room at night, but he doesn’t want to push it.

Bruce sees the lost look on his face, and slowly spells out the word he was trying to say, “n-i-g-h-t-m-a-r-e?”

Jason blinked, before realizing that it was a question. He shrugged. He– really didn’t want to think about it. He stared at Bruce hopefully. Maybe he really wasn’t in trouble.

Bruce nodded, like he understood.

“Same,” he agreed, even though Jason hadn’t confirmed or denied anything. It chafes at him that Bruce can read him so easily, “most nights I can't sleep, so I wander around too.”

Jason glanced around him. The tv wasn’t on, and Bruce didn’t have a book or anything, not that he could’ve read it, since it was completely dark when Jason walked in, “and you just… sit in the dark?” he said, before he could stop himself.

Somehow, this makes a smile split Bruce's face, and all of a sudden, he’s reminded of eating McDonalds with batman. That brief moment where he actually dared to trust an adult, to the point that he let him take Jason to his house.

…he’s not sure if he regrets it or not. He’s not sure of the entire situation here, if Bruce was bad or not. If it was worth staying.

He hopes it is. He really hopes it is, not just because of the warmth and food, but it was just nice not being alone. Dick’s a bit much, but Alfred and Bruce both have a quiet personality that Jason likes. In the brief moments where he forgot the potential danger, like when he was playing chess with Bruce, or making dinner with Alfred, it was almost… nice.

Bruce waves his hand to get Jason's attention, “you bored?”

Jason shrugged and nodded.

“Want to watch Tv?”

Jason shifted from feet to feet, glancing around as if Alfred would appear at any moment. He still feels like he should be in trouble for being up so late, “won’t we wake Alfred up?”

“The Tv can be mute. We can watch it with captions.”

He hesitated. Watching Tv sounded like it was a good way to get Jason vulnerable and close so Bruce could take advantage of him, but if Bruce is safe, then he wouldn’t need to worry about that, right? Normal kids watched Tv with adults all the time, right? Right.

Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the couch and sat right next to Bruce, ignoring the way his chest tightened at the feeling of having the man so close. Bruce seemed just as confused as he was, sitting up and shifting away a little. That was probably good.

A beat passed, but Bruce eventually decided to let it slide without comment, and he picked up his ipad from the ground next to him and gave it to Jason.

He blinked at it. It was some sort of streaming service, showing a whole bunch of kid’s movies. Jason glanced up at Bruce, and Bruce waved his hand at the ipad, as if saying, ‘go on, choose.’

Anxiety flooded him, and it was already bad from sitting next to Bruce. Shit, what did Bruce like? Would he get mad if Jason chose the wrong thing? He shouldn't, because he wasn’t mad that Jason stole food or was out of his room at night, but that didn’t mean he’ll just be okay with sitting through an hour of some shit that Jason chose.

He swallows and just stares at the screen, with no idea what to choose or even how to navigate the app.

Bruce’s hand appears in the corner of his eye and he flinches, squeezing his eyes shut.

Nothing happens though, and Bruce is just holding his hand out for the ipad, “want me to choose?” he asks.

Flushing, he nods, handing it to Bruce. He must think he’s so stupid, not even able to choose a stupid movie to watch.

Wrapped up in his loathing, Bruce only caught his attention again when he sat up, moving to the chair and giving Jason the couch all to himself. It shocks him right out of his spiraling thoughts, and he can only stare at Bruce, dumbfounded.

Bruce raised his eyebrows a little mockingly, like to say, ‘what’re you looking at?’ before returning to choosing a move. He chose some old looking movie called ‘Bartok the Magnificent,’ it looked like crap, but Jason wasn’t gonna say anything. Some mindless kid’s show might be nice, actually.

They sat in silence as the white Bat wittered on, and slowly, ever so slightly, Jason relaxed.

His nightmare wasn’t real, and it wouldn’t make sense for Bruce to randomly kick him out, not this minute, anyway. He’d have to fuck up bad for that to happen. And Bruce was all the way over there, even though Jason planted himself right next to him. He wasn’t going to touch him.

He was right that the movie was crap, and as they watched it, his blinks became longer and longer, until he was pretty sure they were closed more often than they were open.

He should… he should stay awake, because Bruce was right there, even though he wasn’t doing anything. Should Jason be worried? Really, the call of sleep seemed more important than anything around him right now…

He was barely aware of sliding until his head hit the pillow, and the next time he closed his eyes was the last, as he finally drifted off into sleep.

The first thing that he’s aware of is that he’s in his bed, which was to be expected, since that was where he fell asleep last night–

No. no, he woke up. He– shit.

He fell asleep next to Bruce.

He shot up, his heart in his throat. Shit– how could he have been so stupid? He fell asleep on the couch, he knew that, but he was in his bed and that only meant that Bruce– oh god.

He froze, and squeezed his eyes shut. He slowly pulled himself to properly sit up, and–

No pain.

That– that didn’t mean anything. There were lots of things that Bruce could’ve done that didn’t hurt him.

He checked himself. Nope, he was clean all over, and he was wearing the same clothes as the night before. Despite how tired he was, he definitely would’ve woken up if Bruce had undressed him or put him in a bath or something. Maybe he was drugged? No, he didn’t feel the after effects of anything weird, and looking at the time, it’d only been a few hours. He’d definitely still be feeling it if Bruce had slipped him something. Which, he couldn’t even think of any point that Bruce could have had slipped him something.

So… that only left the theory that he fell asleep and Bruce just… carried him back to bed? And didn’t do anything?

That was… that was something that Mom would’ve done. Until he got too big for her, anyway.

He racked his brain for any other explanation, but the only one that came up was that Bruce was just trying to buy his trust.

But… Bruce's horror when Jason had propositioned him all these weeks ago was hard to fake. If he were a real pedo, he would've jumped at the opportunity, would’ve been glad to skip the wooing and get straight to business, but he did the opposite of that. He removed himself from the situation and tossed him over to Alfred.

But there was Dick, and– he was frustratingly vague about whether Bruce actually hurt him or not, but when Jason was still confined to his bed, when Dick felt so guilty he didn’t want to leave Jason's side, he never acted afraid around Bruce. Angry? Yes, he was angry pretty much all the time around him, and Jason could tell that they were barely holding back fighting in front of him, but Dick never flinched, never cowered from him.

Maybe… maybe Bruce was just a nice dude?

It was hard to believe that Jason had somehow ended up with the few nice people in Gotham, but it was the only explanation he could offer. Who else but a good person would take in a deaf street rat like him and give him school, a new language, and expect nothing in return?

The realisation leaves him a little woozy, and with the sudden, horrifying fear of what if he’s wrong? What if Bruce really wanted all that from him and Jason had so stupidly left his heart open to be hurt, left himself open to be killed– what if, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he was wrong?

He really didn’t want to be wrong. He really, really wanted to be able to trust them, to trust that he’s really safe. That he doesn’t have to second guess everything for once and just let himself relax the way he hasn’t relaxed since he was nine. Younger, probably.

He bit his lip, and his stomach growled at him, spoiled from the months of regular eating.

Whatever, no point feeling more hungry than he has to. He slides off his bed and limps to his door, slowly making his way down to the kitchen. Alfred is already there, giving him a dignified British smile.

Jason smiled back, and noticed that Bruce was sitting at the counter as usual, reading the news. The headlines were talking about the recently discovered mobs running the foster system, which, duh. Did no one know about that? Jason really doubted it.

Bruce glanced up and smiled at him, tentatively, like he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Jason pulled his lips up quickly before letting it fall. He still wasn’t really sure what to think of him. Sure, Jason… thinks that Bruce isn’t dangerous,, but… his heart rate still picked up a little when he got too close.

But he was pretty sure that Bruce wouldn’t try to get close. He knew that Jason was scared of him but he somehow never got offended or upset. He’d stay out of Jason's way, and he wouldn’t intentionally hurt him. At least, not for something stupid.

“Hi J,” Bruce greeted when Jason sat down, “you sleep good?”

A little bit of apprehension creeped back into his shoulders, “yeah,” he shrugged, “did you carry me back up?”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded, looking a little worried, “I would've let you sleep, but I was worried about your neck hurting on the couch.”

Because of course Bruce was the type to worry about his neck hurting. He huffed out a little laugh, and noticed that Bruce was watching him very carefully. He wasn’t sure if Jason was gonna be upset or not. Frankly, neither was Jason, but he was pretty sure he was leaning towards not-upset.

If Bruce really hadn’t hurt him, and it was likely that he hadn’t, then there was no reason for him to be upset at someone who had done him a nice thing. People who did shit like carrying children to bed just because of their poor neck were people who were few, and precious.

He didn’t want to make a big deal out of this, though, so he leant over until he saw Alfred, “what’re we having for breakfast, alfie?” he asked, hopefully not too loud, and Alfred turned to face him, a smile on his lips.

“Bacon and eggs,” he signed over his shoulder and Jason was super glad that he caught that, “maybe pancakes.”

Jason grinned. When Alfred signed maybe like that he always meant that they would. He sat back down on his seat and wiggled a little in excitement. It was so nice having sweet things that weren’t just the crappy fake sugar sweets that cost literal cents, which meant he ate it a lot on the streets. Bleh. Why were they even so cheap in the first place?

Bruce smiled at him over his newspaper, looking a little bemused, and Jason surprised himself and smiled back.

Maybe things would be okay.